Woolen Sweaters and Green Tea
by Mrs. Elizabeth Gibbs
Summary: It's days like these he likes the most, he thinks. Quiet days with his wife, drinking tea, feeling her warm weight against him, the hum of the TARDIS the only sound around them other than River's occasional laugh or soft sentence. River/Eleven, a fluffy, generic hurt/comfort kind of a one-shot.


A/N: Just a fluffy, kind of hurt/comfort fic I thought of while looking at this picture of Alex I found on Google while searching for new icon options (and this, coincidentally, was the one I chose!). I have no idea what it's from, but it's one of my favorites of her. This is my first time writing River/Eleven; feedback would be wonderful! :)

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Doctor Who.

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Something was off with River; the Doctor hadn't said anything when she'd given him a short greeting and gone to their bedroom without so much as looking at him. He'd heard the shower turn on and decided he'd leave her be; if she'd wanted him to join her, she'd have said something.

He decided tea was a good idea; he started the kettle and grabbed two mugs (making sure hers was the one Amy had given her for her birthday), dimming the lights slightly and filling both mugs with green tea.

He moved to the bedroom, humming under his breath as he walked. It had been a long time since he and his wife had had any amount of time together that wasn't at Stormcage; and even then, he could only stay for a handful of hours, and staying the night was almost always out of the question. He'd missed her; yes, the sex was good, but it was more than that- he missed the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, he missed the way she curled her body against his when she slept, he missed the way she scrunched her nose when she laughed at him, he missed the way she tugged his lower lip into her mouth when she kissed him.

But she was here, for the night at least, and he was hopeful that they could have the chance to just coexist for a while; to act like a 'normal' married couple instead of the messed up, complicated mess their marriage actually was.

He knocked on the door lightly, still not quite sure what her mood was and not willing to screw up the time they had by pissing her off. Her voice was quiet as she told him to enter, and he opened the door slowly, juggling the two mugs of tea.

"It's green," he said in answer to her unvoiced question as he set the mugs down on the desk in the corner, watching as she disappeared back into the bathroom. He heard the click of the blow dryer and allowed himself a small smirk; he loved watching her dry her curls, the blonde hair flying around her head, unruly and out of control.

He lingered in the doorway of the bathroom, shoulder and hip leaning against the frame as he simply watched her. They were both talkers, they were the first to admit it- but together, they enjoyed silence. There were times when laughter filled the TARDIS; there were times when it was soft moans and groans that echoed off the walls; there were times when the double, staccato beats of their twin hearts and breathing were the only sounds, and that was okay.

Her eyes met his in the mirror, those pools of blue-ish green, and though she looked tired she smiled, warmth glowing from the ocean-colored depths. She wasn't wearing make-up; she'd washed it off in the shower and hadn't re-applied it, and he almost hoped she wouldn't. She was naturally radiant, and his hearts warmed just looking at her; his lips must have curved up into a smile, because River tilted her head in question. He shrugged, shifting his weight as she flicked off the dryer, running both hands

She sighed quietly and rubbed at the back of her neck; rotating her head her neck popped, and relief bloomed across her features. She met him in the doorway, leaning her back against the opposite frame as he turned so that their hips were parallel.

"I'm just going to change and then I'm all yours, sweetie," she said, leaning forward and pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth; she smelled like strawberry shampoo and honey and the simple essence of River he knew he'd never get enough of. His hands squeezed her hips lightly through her satiny robe, thumbs brushing along her bones.

She kissed him again, fully on the lips this time, soft and warm and everything a kiss should be, in his opinion (River's kisses are an addiction; if he could just spend all his time memorizing her lips, he'd die happy). When she pulled back her cheeks were pinker than before and he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, drinking her in.

She slid away and walked to the wardrobe, opening it and going through the clothes there. She pulled out a sweater and a pair of black stretchy pants; he swallowed when she shed her robe and stepped into the pants. They clung to her backside, and he took a deep breath to compose himself so he didn't embarrass himself in front of his wife (though it wouldn't be the first time- or the last).

The sweater she tugged over her head was black and woolen; she wrapped her arms around herself as she went to grab her mug of tea off of the desk, sending him a smile when she noticed the mug he'd chosen. She cupped the ceramic mug in her hands as she moved back to him, allowing him to slip his arms around her back and move to walk behind her to the library.

"You smell fantastic," he murmured into her skin, littering kisses across the back of her neck and moving up to the spot behind her ear that she loved. She hummed in pleasure, tilting her head slightly and his name left her lips in a quiet moan of a breath. "Want to tell me what's wrong, or at least what I can do about it?"

"You're already doing everything, my love," she replied in a whisper, pushing back against him, needing to feel his body with her own. He wonders for a second if she's upset over something that has to do with him, then decides he doesn't want to ruin this time with her; he doesn't want to know what part of his timeline she's crossed. Maybe he doesn't even know what's happened yet; it's better if he just continues what he's doing and leave the thinking for later.

She was warm and soft and curvy against him and his hands wandered across her clothes, slipping under her sweater to stroke the bare skin of her stomach with feather-light fingers. Her hum of approval was like magic to his ears; she tilted her head back against his shoulder and he kissed her nose, relishing her quiet giggle.

It's days like these he likes the most, he thinks. Quiet days with his wife, drinking tea, feeling her warm weight against him, the hum of the TARDIS the only sound around them other than River's quiet laugh or soft sentence.

River turned and kissed his jaw lightly, snuggling against him on the couch, surrounded by the smell of books and her husband, closing her eyes. Days like these were few and far between, and while she knew their time wasn't up yet, the increasing awareness of time and how quickly it flew by was always on her mind.

But an afternoon of green tea together and a woolen sweater that would soon wind up on the library floor was enough for now.


End file.
